Chapter 21

’run your fingers through his hair
they scratch across his back
fade to black’
- “fade to black” by dire straits

Even in the greatest turmoil, some things come to you in perfect clarity.

The inevitability of death is one of these things.

Pieces of the stone tablet lay scattered all around her as Buffy’s eyes focused on Spike.

The vampire had gathered his composure again, even his demon had retreated. He stared at Buffy in shock. They both knew what this meant.

No stone tablet, no more safety net. Their plan A had been shattered to pieces. Literally. Unfortunately, plan B would mean that one of them had to die in order to stop the Fates.

All of that came to Buffy as clear as day in a matter of seconds. The entire thought process including the not so pleasant conclusion flared up inside her brain like a big honking neon light.

“No,” she breathed but somehow she knew that Spike had heard her perfectly clearly.

Thunder roared above her. As Buffy looked up, she saw that the static cloud had grown multiple times its original size. And it kept growing. Static as bright and violent as lightning crackled through it.

Laying there on the floor, the Slayer realized that if she stayed there, the cloud would touch her in a matter of seconds. And who knew that would happen to her if it did.

She scuttled away from it, her body protesting in pain. When she looked over to Spike again, one of those screeching creatures had attacked him. Spurred by whatever fury, the vampire kept pummeling away at it, fists flying.

“You wanted to ban us, little Slayer?” Lachesis appeared at her side, squatting down next to her. “You and your little witch.”

“Shame on you, if you fool us once.” Clotho stepped through the cloud, static clinging to her body.

“Shame on us, if you fool us twice.” Atropos towered over her, propping her hands on her hips.

“You’ve really got this Charlie’s Angels thing working for you, don’t you?”

Buffy’s voice had gathered a little more strength again. Everything inside her was screaming flight while she knew that the only option was fight. Well, it wasn’t really an option rather she knew that it was the only way; and there was still no way out. For a split second, she wanted to give up, wanted to let them have her and be done with it. Some helpless, desperate part of her brain taunted her that she had nothing to fight for anyway. Her life was all about war and death, so she might just fulfill her destiny.

Buffy tried to retreat from the Fates, to get up to her feet again. She caught a glimpse of Spike who fought for his proverbial life on the other side of the cloud. For a moment, it seemed as though he was looking at her as well. There it was again, that look. His look. That one look that was only for her, that had pulled her through so many rough moments.

So, her life was all about war and death but she did have something to fight for.

Determination and resolve steeled her body, blocked the pain and tapped into the last pool of strength she had. She wouldn’t remember the almost primal scream that escaped her throat as she threw herself into battle again.


*

In his peripheral vision, Spike saw Buffy rise to her feet again. He would have helped her if he hadn’t been busy fighting the nasty creature. Like the first one they had met that night, it wore a hooded cloak that fully shrouded its head.

There was a good reason why it wore that hood. Spike had figured that out when he had torn it off the thing’s head in mid-fight.

Its head was bald, the skin pasty white. It had what looked like the compound eyes of a fly, its mouth round and lined with half a dozen rows of pointy little teeth. A foul stench emanated from it every time it lunged at Spike with one of its taloned hands.

The vampire’s sleeves were slashed and torn, and only the sturdy material of his vest kept the thing from doing any more damage. Even after firing half a clip into the thing at close range it kept going.

Spike stashed his gun, blocking a blow with his arm. The thing was damn strong. Turning around, he used its momentum to throw it over his shoulder. He stepped over the creature, jerked it up by its cloak, then wrapped his arm around its neck and twisted it until it snapped.

He had hardly time for triumph as he heard a painful scream behind him, a voice he knew all too well.

“Buffy.” Her name sounded strained on his lips as he turned toward her.

The Fates had brought her to the floor again, and this time there was blood.

Atropos towered over Buffy, holding something in her hand that gleamed crimson with the Slayer’s blood. At first, he thought it was a knife or a dagger but Spike realised only moments later that it was a pair of scissors.

His eyes fell on Buffy. She lay on her back, one hand pressed to her stomach; her shirt was torn from left to right and soaked with blood where the Fate had slashed her.

The three women were closing in on her, pushing her into a corner. The redhead lifted the scissors to her mouth, licking the blood off the blades.

Even over the din of the battle, Spike could hear her mewl like a kitten at the taste, her body writhing in pleasure.

“She tastes good.” It was Clotho who spoke, her voice matching the dazed expression on Atropos’ face.

“But it isn’t time for her.” Lachesis stepped up to the redhead, pressing up against the other woman.

“Yet.” A slow, nasty smile spread on Atropos’ face. She sniffed at the scissors’ blades before she turned around, her eyes focusing on Spike.


*

Sometimes time seemed to have its own wicked ways.

When you have to sit through a boring class, time crawls so slowly that it doesn’t seem to pass at all.

And when you are fighting for your life, time rushes on like a freight train.

All Buffy could do was watch in utter horror.

The Fates dismissed her, her oh so tasty blood forgotten. They passed through the ever-growing cloud as though it was just fine mist. In a blur of motion, they were on the other side. And on Spike.

Lachesis and Clotho grabbed him by his arms, their strong yet delicate looking fingers closing around his biceps, digging into his flesh. Atropos pressed up against him, running her free hand over his chest.

She lifted the scissors up to Spike’s face, tracing the lines of his cheek and jaw with the tip of the blades. His nostrils flared upon the contact, unneeded breath hitching in his throat.

Buffy could see him starting to shake when the blades nicked his skin, drawing a little blood. The Fate leaned into him, licking up the side of his face. She shivered, writhing against him. Spike just stood there, letting it happen. If he couldn’t or wouldn’t move she couldn’t tell.

Everything after that was only just a blur.

Atropos all but slithered around the vampire’s body, her hands in all the inappropriate places at once.

In a flicker of motion, Buffy saw how the Fate lifted the scissors, bringing them down on Spike’s back. The blade went in like a hot knife in butter, piercing his vest, his shirt, his skin.

As she pushed it in to the hilt, the three women leaned into him to whisper into his ear.

“Time’s up.”


***